An American Witch In Paris. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
work it, but I seriously prefer clean clothes. And I need some lip gloss and eye liner. I feel naked without the black stuff.”
“Is that going to help you to locate the demon?”
“It will.” She turned and fluttered her lashes at him. “Don’t you know a woman’s power is all in how she feels about herself? When I look good, I do my best.”
“I think you look great.”
“You’re a guy. Guys always say dismissive things like that.”
He shook his head and set aside the iPad. “Shopping it is. And then?”
“And then, I also need to pick up some spell supplies. Outfit myself with a makeshift hex-and-spell armory. Then I should be able to set up a grid to map the city of demons. And hopefully, by incorporating the sigil’s power, The Beautiful One will stand out on that map.”
“Hopefully? I’m going to need more than that. I require assurance.”
Tuesday shrugged and bit off another piece of chocolaty pastry. “You get hope from me for now, vamp. Say, do you mind that I used your comb?”
“As long as you didn’t use my toothbrush, I don’t care.”
“What if I did use your toothbrush?”
“We’re stopping at a pharmacy, first thing.”
* * *
The witch could work the tight black jeans and floaty flowered shirt. Her vibe was definitely bohemian, with her thick white hair braided down one side and the furred spangled coat topping it all off. In the pharmacy, she tore open the makeup packaging and performed a quick makeover on herself, fluttering her newly blackened lashes at him and pursing her deep violet lips.
Ethan nodded approval because the sooner she served her personal needs, the quicker he could be done with this stupid stuff and get on to the important work. But he had to admit the deep color she wore on her lips stirred his desires. The violet lipstick emphasized her plump, heart-shaped mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes from them. They might taste like sweet grapes warmed under the Tuscan sun.
Yikes. Ethan checked himself. What was he thinking? He was not attracted to a witch. Yes, he was. And what the fuck was that about?
“Come on!” Tuesday skipped ahead, obviously on some kind of spending high.
Ethan kept his credit card handy. Whatever made the witch happy.
Now, she had managed to find a dusty candle shop that opened to a private room in the back that was filled with all the witchy accoutrements he imagined she’d ever need. And while he suspected the shop owner was one of those kitchen witches who spoke incantations from books she’d bought on the internet and thought she was casting spells, she wasn’t a real born witch like Tuesday Knightsbridge. And if she knew that the woman buying smudge sticks and candles from her really did possess natural magic, she would be in awe.
Tuesday popped her head out from the back room with a bag full of goodies and winked at Ethan as she wandered by. “Homeward! Stuart waits for us!”
At the very least, he’d gotten a new toothbrush.
Back at his place, Tuesday dropped her shopping booty on the floor by the sofa, tossed her coat on the chair and beelined to the bathroom while he picked up the mess.
Setting her heeled boots on the rug by the door, he then placed the bags neatly on the kitchen counter. He liked a clean, organized home. Which was probably why his few attempts at living with women over the years had failed. Also, the lack of privacy was jarring. Sharing a home with another person was hard work. And since he could have a relationship without moving in with the woman, he chose to stick with what worked.
Although a few relationships here and there, over the centuries, had worked for him. Most had been so long ago he’d forgotten what it felt like or how it had lasted. That wasn’t exactly true. A man never forgot the women who had passed through his life. And the current one was moving through like a hurricane intent on settling and spinning about for a while.
“Stuart, be sure to send the vacuum through when next I leave.”
The home butler confirmed with a blip on the wall panel and a solid green light. Ethan had programmed it not to return voice reply unless necessary. It wasn’t like he needed to talk to the artificial intelligence to make conversation. He used it merely as the maid he liked to have available at all hours of the day, yet didn’t want a human stumbling around in his life discovering that he didn’t need to sleep and eat. And he’d bitten a maid once. Early nineteenth century? It was best not to drink from the help.
Tuesday returned, flipping her hair over a shoulder, and stretched out on the sofa. “Where’s my stuff?”
“On the kitchen counter. You can’t leave a trail of bread crumbs wherever you walk.”
“I don’t need to. We’re attached at the hip. If you should lose sight of me, you’ll find me soon enough. Bring me my bags.”
“Get them yourself.” He settled onto the big leather chair with the wide wooden arms. The wood was worn from decades of use and connection to life. And more than a few frenzied bang sessions. “Dazzle me with your witchy magic and this demon map you said you could conjure.”
“I don’t dazzle on command.” She wandered over to the counter and pulled out things from the bags.
“Then how do I get you to dazzle me?” Ethan asked. “Is there a magic word?”
“Please seems to work most of the time.”
He pressed his fingers to his forehead. He should have left the witch in the cage.
On the other hand, she couldn’t hex him and he did need help with this case. He had absolutely no clue how to lure in the demon otherwise, so he would take her sassy mouth and... Well, he’d kiss her again if need be. Heh. That kiss had set her off-kilter.
But the return kiss had surprised him. And then he’d accepted it for the retaliation it had been. Now a kiss from those grape-stained lips would give him what he wanted from her. Another taste. A teasing test of his abilities to remain completely unaffected by her charms and attraction.
She had some. Somewhere in that scatter of spangles, sass and black eye shadow.
“Black salt and raven’s ash.” She waggled between them two vials of a dark substance that she’d purchased from the candle shop. “This will do the trick.”
She wandered over and pushed the narrow coffee table up against the sofa. The wide dark-stained plank flooring was the original from when the building had once been a millinery factory. Ethan liked it because he’d known a man who had worked here in the 1920s. He’d taken immense pride in the cut of a woman’s hat, or even the specific froth of a silk flower adorning a sweeping brim. He’d also asked Ethan for vampirism after learning that the mercury used to cure the felt for his creations was driving him insane. Ethan had convinced him an insane vampire would be worse than a human prematurely dead from bleeding out.
In all his centuries, Ethan had never created another vampire. And he didn’t intend to do so anytime soon. It was too much power to simply give away as if a holiday gift. And besides, he was blood-born, not a created vampire. His breed were superior to those who had been transformed in a back alley or at a lover’s lusty request. And he wasn’t about to tarnish the line. If he ever desired to procreate, he would have a child, who, depending on its mother’s lineage and paranormal species, would very likely be born vampire. He preferred to mate with another vampire, but he wasn’t rigid in that stance. Love was actually his key requirement to a happy, lasting relationship.
But love was fickle and...well, he’d take it if it came his way, but he wasn’t on a quest to track it down.
Ethan leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and watched as Tuesday sprinkled black salt in a pattern before her on the floor. He was curious about witchcraft, and knew it was powerful. No